Fever 1793 by Laurie Halse Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

in Philadelphia, William. Can you imagine if one in forty were to die?"
    The room quieted as we all pondered the number.
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    "I don't believe it," said Grandfather finally. "People exaggerate. What news from our friend Evans?"
    Mr. Brown looked up.
    "His wife is ill, and he has closed his shop. My business dwindles daily. I have already lost one of my lads, gone with his family to Wilmington."
    "Mrs. Ogilvie said that everyone of fashion has fled to their country estates," I offered.
    "I heard one of her daughters was stricken," said Mr. Brown. "Myself, I straddle a fence. One foot stays here in Philadelphia. The other foot is in the country. We know the air there is pure and the people safer. I say safer, mind, not safe. There are reports of fever in Bucks County and Delaware."
    "What of the government, then?" Grandfather asked.
    "Jefferson still comes into town every morning, though everyone says he'll soon quit and retire to his farm at Monticello," said Mr. Carris.
    "Bah! We don't need Jefferson. We have the general. President Washington won't abandon us!"
    Mr. Carris blew his nose loudly. "The president retires to Virginia for a respite every September. He is not a man to change his habits. Even if he called the Congress back, few would dare return. I tell you, William, men who stood unafraid before British cannon run in fear from this foul pestilence. I fear for Philadelphia. I fear for the people, I fear for myself."
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    Grandfather did not say a word as we walked home. I silently counted on my fingers: twenty-eight days until the end of September, then on into October until the first frost. Frost always killed fever. Mr. Carris said it drained the poison from the air. The Ludingtons' were sounding better. Slopping pigs couldn't be that much harder than serving in the front room, and it would be better than falling ill or dying. I'd be there over harvest. They would make me work in the fields and feed me bread and water. But I wouldn't get sick.
    Grandfather stayed silent until we approached a limping man dressed in dark rags, pushing a cart.
    "Wonder where that fellow's going?" he said. "Looks like he belongs on the waterfront."
    A thin white arm flopped over the side of the cart as it jostled over the cobblestones.
    "Hullo there, good man!" called Grandfather. "There is no place for the dead up here. Hullo!"
    The man ignored us and pressed on steadily.
    "Perhaps he is transporting a poor woman to Rickett s Circus, like Mr. Carris said," I suggested.
    "She should be moved at night, when good people are safe in their beds. Now what is he doing?"
    The man had stopped at the corner of High and Seventh, in front of our coffeehouse.
    Grandfather sped up. "Sir, I protest most vehemently!"
    I lifted my skirts and ran ahead of Grandfather. An
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    unnamed fear shot through me. My eyes filled with tears.
    "No, this is too much," Grandfather called angrily. "Sir," he shouted. "Take that away from my home. Off with you now and take your cargo, or I should call the constable."
    The man turned back and looked at Grandfather, then lifted the handles of the wheelbarrow and dumped the woman on the street.
    "Mother!" I screamed.
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    CHAPTER NINE
    September 2nd, 1793
    He's the best physician that knows the worthlessness of most medicines.
    -Benjamin Franklin Poor Richard's Almanac, 1733
    1 stood dumbly while Grandfather knelt by Mother's side.
    "She's alive!" he said. "Take her feet, Mattie. We must get her inside."
    Eliza screamed as we carried Mother through the front door. She dropped a clay pitcher on the floor. It shattered into bits.
    "Is she... ?"
    "She was overcome by the heat," said Grandfather. "She'll be fine after a short rest. That's all she needs. A short rest."
    Mother didn't open her eyes until we tucked her into bed. She looked around in confusion.
    "You fainted," Eliza explained.
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    "It's what you get for working too hard," added Grandfather.
    I waited for Mother to throw off the quilt and scold us. Instead, she